Piano Man
by palmtreedragons
Summary: The only time Bruce and his sons are not bickering or putting their life on the line is when they're gathered around the piano. Alfred wouldn't have it any other way.
**I swear this started out as a fluffy chapter to add to my story When the Bat's Away, but it turned out so sweet, long, and _amazing_ that I decided to make it its own thing. I don't know, I think this is my favorite fanfiction I've ever written.**

 **Hope you guys enjoy it!**

 **~palmtreedragons**

* * *

It's an unspoken fact that Alfred has heard each member of the household's musical abilities.

When it came to Bruce, it was a near innumerable amount of times, surprisingly. From the time when Bruce was still young, and his parents were still alive, his mother insisted on her son taking lessons for the piano. Bruce had detested the music altogether, but slowly he began to accept it. Alfred would catch Bruce beaming with pride as he played simple rhymes and lullabies for his parents. A handful of short years went by, and Bruce was soon a skilled musician. He began to play more intricate pieces, and his adorable hobby developed into a gifted talent. When Thomas Wayne came home from a particularly stressful day of work, he would sit in the den and ask his son to play. Bruce began to boast that he was finally better than Alfred at something. Alfred would agree.

Then the death of the Waynes hit Gotham, and Bruce ceased to play. Alfred could see in his eyes what Bruce saw when he looked at the ivory keys: cheery music performed for his parents after suppers; serene pieces of music for his father; a skill hours spent on for his parents to enjoy. Without his parents to listen, the playing stopped.

The piano sat in the old den for years. The keys were covered with dust and the same framed photograph of Bruce and his parents sat on the flat top. When Master Bruce returned to Gotham, and shortly after the creation of the Batman, Alfred was awake one night. He could not seem to shake the feeling that something was happening. Walking the halls of the manor, he began to hear something he hadn't heard for the better half of a decade: the sweet tinkling keys of the Wayne's piano. _Bruce's_ piano.

It was one of the last pieces Bruce had played. It was fluid and fast and full of emotion—something Bruce lacked nowadays. Alfred could not help but remember sitting up late into the night as a boy worked out every note of this very song until it was perfect enough for his parent's ears. They never got the chance to hear it.

Alfred could not say how long he stood outside the closed door to the den, but he could certainly say that his legs and back were stiff but his heart full when the last notes were played. He would never speak it, but when Bruce would be head to bed stressed, Alfred would sneak down to the den's door, knowing the pianist would be there to play out his grief.

* * *

Alfred was not the only one to hear Bruce play. Quite some time after the appearance of the Robin, Richard Grayson found himself stumbling upon the sound of music one sleepless night. He didn't have the same tactic as Alfred; Dick stormed into the room, causing Bruce's fingers to fumble on the keys. Alfred listened on to their conversation, a back and forth of adamantly denying to play and heartfelt begging. Soon the begging won, and the notes were played, this time slow and cautious, under the intense eye of his new partner in crime.

Alfred thought it sweet. Bruce had likely caught on by now that his surrogate father was listening in, but he had never confronted Alfred on the matter. But here he was, playing for the small boy at his side. Alfred peered in the doorway and saw the two sitting side by side on the piano bench, Dick swinging his legs to the beat. The music stopped. Alfred was just about to retire when he heard a small voice:

"Can you teach me?"

Alfred froze. It was a very large step for Bruce to play for someone other than his long deceased parents, but to teach this already fragile talent of his to another . . . Alfred braced himself for Dick's crestfallen reaction to Bruce's rejection. But instead he heard Bruce's low voice murmuring, and a single note was played. Alfred waited with baited breath, and Dick repeated Bruce's single note.

And since then, the piano was never untouched. Bruce slowly began to grow more lenient with when and who he played for, but it was Dick who had now taken the title of the pianist of Wayne Manor. Whenever Dick walked past the piano, he was sure to tap the keys, or play a short song. It was as if he couldn't get enough of it. Years passed, years of Robin and then Nightwing roaming the halls. The name changed, and the boy changed into a man, but the piano never changed.

* * *

Jason Todd was different from his family, that much was obvious. But that wasn't always a bad thing.

When he first came to the household—a boy from the streets used to the harsh ways of survival—the last thing on his mind was to play piano. Much later, when Jason was growing more accustomed to the life of a Wayne, Dick had decided to teach his new brother the Wayne's family instrument.

And it was not a very good night.

Jason simply didn't have the agile fingers or the patience of his father or brother to play. The night had ended with a frustrated Grayson and a more frustrated Todd storming apart, promising this would never occur again. And it didn't. The piano remained for Bruce and Dick.

Years went past, and Jason made no sign of growing fond of the piano—rather, he gave it a dirty look every time he passed it. Dick took personal offense to this, and it was just one more thing that stood between the two. Bruce only found it annoying, as it often led to quarrels. Alfred could not say he was not disappointed to find that Jason hated the piano, but it was not the end of the world.

And just as Alfred stumbled onto Bruce's long lost talent, he stumbled onto Jason's hidden one. Bruce was gone for most of the day for business, and not the kind that required the mask. Alfred was doing his rounds of tidying up when he heard something that seemed out of place in the empty manor. He followed it to Master Jason's room, and took to his usual eavesdropping position behind the door.

The radio was lightly playing some new song that had swept the city, but the music was drowned out by the sound of Jason's voice as he sang along. Alfred could not help but smile at the thought of the closeted, disgruntled boy carefree and relaxed and _singing._ Alfred was not only shocked by the occurrence of the singing, but by the quality of his voice. Alfred was positive it was not simply the fondness of the boy clouding his ear; Jason Todd was secretly a fantastic singer.

Alfred never spoke a word, and, of course, neither did Jason. Alfred only caught Jason's voice a handful of times before his death. Then more than ever he wished he had told someone, or perhaps approached Jason on the matter. The boy would no doubt act embarrassed and cross, but a small confidence boost could have meant the world to Jason.

And when the second Robin supposedly rose from the dead, Bruce had explained to Alfred that it was not Jason Todd any longer, that that boy was gone forever. The two became enemies, and Alfred clung to the memory of Jason in his room with his radio. Eventually, Bruce came to terms with Jason and his new ways, and the new man that came from the street-rat boy had lessened the harshness of his ways. Somehow the two met halfway, and Jason was allowed to come home. He only stopped by every so often, but Alfred would always know Jason was there when he heard the radio playing.

It wasn't the piano, but it was an instrument, in its own way. An instrument no one could teach him but himself.

* * *

Timothy was a klutz when it came to the keys, and that was simply a fact. Try as he might, Tim could not follow Dick or Bruce as they tried to show him basic notes. It was a gift he did not possess, but a concept he could grasp.

As the new Robin fled from the den and to his room, Dick and Bruce exchanged small talk over the piano as the fireplace roared in the background. Alfred was silently following the conversation, reading his paper on the sofa. Hours later, Tim flew into the room, an inked and folded sheet of paper in his hands. He skidded to a halt in front of Bruce, breathless and red-faced from his mad dash.

"I made something for you," he said simply, holding the paper out for Bruce to accept. Alfred caught a glimpse of notes and staff lines and Bruce took the paper for examination. Alfred expected something no more complex than _Chopsticks_ , but it was the thought that truly mattered. Bruce's brow furrowed, and Dick strode to Bruce's side to read the paper, too.

"You made this?" Bruce questioned, and Timothy nodded enthusiastically.

"Can you play it?"

Bruce sat at the piano, and his fingers glided across the keys. Alfred was immediately taken aback by the sound of the piece, by the complexity and the creativity. That was when they found out Timothy Drake was a born composer. Over the years, Tim would gift Bruce and Dick with pieces reflecting anything from their mood to what he felt like having for dinner. And Alfred always made sure the boy had enough staff lined paper and pens to create his masterpieces. Tim was always witty with his titles, and most of the times they simply made no sense.

Soon Timothy shed the title of Robin as his elder brother had, and the Red Robin was his new name. And, taking after his brother, he made sure to stop by whenever he could. For the most part, Tim was still living in the Manor, though he insisted otherwise. One of he and Master Dick's new enjoyments were Tim creating increasingly tough pieces to play, and Dick trying to perform them. Tim's latest piece for Dick was a sheet covered entirely in thirty-second notes. Dick one-upped him by playing it in cut time.

* * *

Alfred thought he heard a violin playing. He couldn't be sure until he tracked it down to its source, which happened to be Master Damian's room. The introverted boy seemed full of surprises, but this one Alfred did not see coming at all.

Ear pressed to the door, he could hear the sweet, high notes of the instrument as the bow was dragged across its strings. Alfred vaguely wondered when the boy had had the time to learn in the League of Assassins, but he was too raptured by the playing to think much about it. The playing quickly stopped, and Alfred had just enough time to make it seem he was dusting before Damian emerged from his room. He passed Alfred without a glance.

Nearly a year passed, and Alfred was going to go mad. Damian resembled his brother Jason in the matters of sharing private matters, and after the near loss of the second Robin, Alfred figured it was worth mentioning the talent to Bruce. Bruce had known Alfred always had ears for what went on in the manor, but he outright laughed when Alfred explained how he had come across this information. The next night Alfred and Bruce stood at Damian's door, anxiously waiting for the music to begin. After a brief moment, the sound of Damian's violin drifted into the hall. Alfred watched Bruce's face, holding a rainbow of emotions ranging from awestruck to proud. They stood in the darkness, letting their minds wander as the occasional silence would fall when Damian would switch sheet music.

Only this time, instead of the young musician beginning another piece, he opened the door. He was met with his father and Alfred, both having no words to explain themselves. Damian went red in the face at the sight of the two, but Alfred quickly realized it was not from anger—it was from embarrassment.

"You're an amazing player," Bruce said honestly, staring at the silent boy. Damian seemed to preen at the comment, regaining some of his ego. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look mad, but the blush would not fade.

"Indeed you are," Alfred agreed.

Bruce patted Damian on the shoulder, telling him a quick goodnight, and left the doorway. Alfred followed his lead, bidding Damian a good night as well. Alfred enjoyed the look on Damian's face when Bruce complimented his playing; it was good to see him knocked off his high horse and embarrassed for once, but it was also good to see Damian look at his father the same way Bruce looked at his.

* * *

Alfred was responsible for their monthly get togethers. He had suggested that, with all the musical ability in the house, the men should combine their talents for a change, rather than play in solos. Tim had run off to compose a piece before Bruce could say no. They quickly got word out to Dick and Jason; the first was ecstatic, while the second stated firmly he would only attend if he didn't have to sing. By this time, of course, Alfred had already "accidentally" let it slip that Jason's talents lied elsewhere, and while his brothers and father supported him, the teasing was always waiting just below the surface.

And so once a month, they would get together. Tim and Jason would sprawl themselves across the sofa by the fireplace. Dick and Bruce would sit side by side on the piano bench like so many years ago, Bruce playing one part of a piano duet in the lower end while Dick played the higher. Damian's violin would make an appearance, sweetening the song as it blended with the piano. The room was warm and full of music, and it was one of the few rare times Bruce donned a completely real and honest smile. Sometimes Jason, caught in the moment, would create silly lyrics to go along with the tunes, and Tim would scramble for the nearest paper and pen to write it down. No number of villains or murderers or crooks could ruin the moments like these.

Alfred remained in his spot by the door. Though the members of the household wished him to come further into the room, Alfred thought the music seemed better from the doorway to the den. After all, it was where he had heard so many of his masters' songs before. Where he had witnessed where this all began. It only seemed natural that Alfred watch on.

Memories in his head surged of his standing in this exact spot. Memories of a small boy, whining about how much he absolutely hated the piano. Alfred could remember caving in to the boy's pathetic pleas, letting Bruce finish his lessons early. Bruce would always cast a glance at the instrument over his shoulder as he dashed away, as if he would miss it, despite how much he stated otherwise. Alfred knew from the start Bruce would enjoy being a pianist.

If you told the Alfred he was all those years ago his small master would be jumping off of roofs and wearing capes and taking bullets for the greater good, he would have said good day to you, and that his master would never become such a fool. But if you told him his master would someday teach his sons the joy of being a musician? Well, he would have told you he expected nothing less.


End file.
